


Molly's First Christmas

by asparagusmama



Series: The Molly Hathaway-Lewis futurefic kidfic collection [1]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief mentions of childhood abuse, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, bereavement, religious feelings and imagery, slight moments of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2860157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's first Christmas with her adoptive fathers, Lewis and Hathaway. Some cut and paste from White, many more scenes new. Set entirely within the universe that begins with cold Summer and ends with White, canon divergent at the end of Season Four.</p><p>A gift with love for all those who have encouraged me in the complex case fics, the stories around them and/or the Molly Lewis kid fic series.</p><p>First chapter will be full of shopping, hair, and decorating</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Day Before

Lewis came in, exhausted, at just gone midnight to find the house in darkness. Of James there was no sign. Both cot and bed were pristine and unslept in. In the main, front reception room he found James’ sofa, his chairs, James’ coffee table and all their bookcases, with boxes and boxes of books, CDs, records and DVDs placed in front of the various shelf units and cases. None of the wall units were screwed down; instead Lewis found a note in James’ loopy, gothic, hand,

‘Leave until walls painted? Or not?’

He headed for the kitchen, tripping over the buggy in the hallway. He found them in the second, smaller living room, which ran parallel to the kitchen and dining room. Here, curled up on his old, squashy sofa, was James, huddled up under the spare duvet. Molly was muffled in a sleep suit and little jumper and hat, asleep in the playpen, sucking the edge of her blanket, which she had kicked off. She was clutching her rattling, variously textured, rag doll and the dog-shaped teething ring lay by her side.

Lewis pulled the blanket back over Molly, picked up the plate and plastic bowl, mug, wine glass, lidded beaker and teated milk bottle, put them on the tray and tiptoed out. He slept fitfully for a few hours, alone, the pertinent facts about the supposed murder of the college’s domestic bursar still worrying at him and again reliving and reviewing the horror of Nadia’s murder – where in his dream world of the subconscious, Mark was not only a suspect but guilty and charged, – going around and around in his brain, before waking just before six. He hurriedly showered, shaved and dressed before going downstairs to the back room. He wasn’t surprised to find James and Molly up, although up was a too optimistic description. They were still dressed as they had been last night, Molly sitting on James’ lap holding her bottle while he read to her from a picture book. Something looked wrong, odd, but it took him a while to realise it was James, wearing narrow, tortoiseshell glasses sitting quite comfortably on his nose, which was the difference, or rather, the main one. The other was, apart from two days worth of blond stubble on James’ cheeks, was his wild, unbrushed hair, far, far longer than he had ever seen. James looked up at him through pale, unmade up, eyelashes and smiled.

“Hi. Long time no see. How are you?”

“Bloody dreadful.”

“Did you see the forecast? Have you looked outside?”

“What?”

“Snow. Like November. Too much snow. Worse in Manchester again.”

“Oh hell!”

“Hal!” yelled Molly. “Dah!”

“Oi! Naughty little princess!” Robbie said, taking Molly from James and sitting next to him. “Mind you, however much I’m desperate to see our Lyn and Emma, the state of this place! Looks like you made a start pet, but everything needs painting, shelves, curtains, the works. See you hung them here.”

“There’s so much to do, but Molly takes so much time, and there’s other stuff to do.”

“What other stuff?”

“The turkey. Food, drink, presents, you know?”

“Hell! The tree. Tell you what, I’ll make time to pick up the tree, if you get the rest, okay? Can you do a Christmas dinner?”

James shrugged. “I can do a basic Sunday roast, I suppose it’s like that on a bigger scale.” He smiled. “I shall do my best, won’t I Molly?”

“Dah dah!”

“I suppose if the spare bed is up and there’s curtains in that room, we’ll survive. If our Lyn can make it.”

“It’s supposed to be growing milder, this snow isn’t supposed to stay like before. Let’s just work on the assumption she’s coming, okay?”

“I’d better go. Laura wants to see me early and Innocent wants me at nine.”

“What about breakfast? Coffee even?”

“I’ll grab myself something after I’ve seen Laura. To be honest, the state of the poor girl’s head I don’t want to be going into the PM with a fully belly! But I’ll get myself something, promise love. Alright?”

“Make sure you do. I can’t see Ngoti fetching you bacon rolls like I did.”

“No. Or going for a pint. It’s alright, I got Alec to fetch me food.”

“How’s Sophie Mercer? Or Sophie Ngoti, I should say now.”

“Pregnant.”

“Is she?” James smiled. “That’s great. I think. Does she...?”

“Yeah, they’re both very happy.”

“I meant, how’s she settling in with Knox?”

“Not good. You know what a sexist pillock he is. No, she’s transferring back to uniform after the baby. Front desk at Cowley. A woman in uniform complete with dark blue hijab instead of hat is good PR there.”

“Shame, she had the makings of a good detective.”

“I dunno. She had some great leaps of the imagination but her observational skills were a bit below par at times and paperwork and correct procedure bored her. She’ll probably be great at community work or PR after the baby. Nothing like a white girl from a rough estate in a hijab as a police officer – as a Thames Valley poster girl! - to pull communities together, eh? ’Specially a bright girl with a sociology degree.”

“Oh. Politics. Are you quoting Innocent?” James asked cheekily.

“Oh, s’pose I’m not clever enough to work that out?”

“Not really your world view. Too closed and cynical for you.”

“I can be cynical. I have me moments.”

James looked over his glasses. Robbie thought it was so damned sexy, but he didn’t say so, he had to go and Molly was wide-awake, eating her book by the looks of her. Instead he lightly kissed James on the end of his nose before he said, “I might have been para-phrasing Innocent. I’ve gotta go love. Bye,” and, after kissing Molly too on the nose and plonking her back onto James lap, he got up and left for work. James stared after him contemplating the day alone in a half-formed home while Molly stared after rubbing her nose crossly. Did she say Dad could make her nose wet like that?

*

As soon as the madness of the rush hour of crowded buses, some of which were late and some cancelled due to the snow, causing chaos according to Malcolm Boyden on Radio Oxford, that James had kept on in the background for company, he left to walk to the Banbury Road to hopefully catch a bus to the city centre. He took the buggy to carry the shopping but regretted it almost instantly as the paths had not been gritted and pushing through fresh snow, old snow, dirty and frozen, along with slush in the patches where the weak sunlight had already done its job of melting, was almost impossible. He found himself lifting Molly and buggy over patches and didn’t really fancy doing the same with a buggy loaded with a turkey, a ham, a salmon, potatoes, vegetables and presents for Molly and Emma. Still, it was a balmy two degrees Celsius; perhaps the snow might have gone on his return.

He got to Broad Street, and avoiding the mad crowds of panicked Christmas shoppers in the Cornmarket he walked down Broad Street turning opposite Trinity into Turl Street to walk half way down the tarmac half, turning into Market Street past Jesus College and entering the Covered Market.

The Covered Market was always an Aladdin’s cave of treasures at the best of times, but at Christmas time it was akin to time travel, with the smell of pies and cheeses, the butchers with the turkeys – feathers and heads still on – along with the whole, unskinned, venison and pigs and the feathered pheasants all hanging in front of their units; the live lobsters and crabs in their tanks in front of the fishmongers; the huge vegetable stall at the end as James entered, a colourful array that covered practically the whole width of the medieval building that housed the Covered Market, with all the vegetables, fruits, salads and nuts imaginable. And in between all these; the designer clothes, both for infants and spoiled children and those aimed at the more affluent student and tourist Oxford specialized in; the bric-a-brac and nik-naks for tourist and student alike; the many second hand bookshops that appeared bigger on the inside; the specialist sausage shop and the cake shop, displaying their awesome edible works of art: this year a cake made to look like the Radcliffe Camera with marzipan and sugar carol singers standing before it. All over this was laid over the small of freshly brewed coffee and baking cakes and pies from the many, many, cafes and the delicatessen and the chocolate from the chocolatier.

As a child James had loved the occasional trip to Oxford’s Covered Market with his mother, although everything was out of his family’s Christmas budget. He suspected that many a year their Christmas bird was a poached one. His Dad, among his many other low level dodgy skills, was a master poacher.

This was Molly’s first Christmas, his first Christmas with Robbie, and for months, without his really realising or noticing, it had kind of crept up on him, everything, but everything, had gone on Robbie’s credit and debit cards. James had money in the bank and serious shopping to do!

After an hour and a half, including a break for coffee and cake, nearly all the food shopping was done and the tree presents in a the form of a book and a pair of earrings for Lyn and a book and a silk tie for Robbie, James stood at the far corner from where he had entered, standing outside a shop called ‘The Farmhouse’. It sold cards, gifts and some toys.

He had thought Molly was still asleep, so quiet she had been, overawed by the crowds of people and the smells, so he was startled as she suddenly chanted,

“Ro So! Ro So!” This was what she called her rag doll James had named Rosie. As he had named her little teething ring/small cuddly dog Joey it amused James no end to hear Molly when she sat in her playpen talking to them she sounded as if she were speaking Judoon: “Ro So Jo,” she would say over and over again happily. However, this time James looked around, panicked, in case she had lost her comforter, but no, Rosie was still tucked into the blanket, strapped into the buggy with her owner. He then looked into the window display of large, perfectly crafted rag dolls, with hand-sewn dresses that would fit a real baby, woollen hair in plaits or bunches and genuine cotton white socks or striped stockings.

“I think they will probably have an over three tag on them,” he said gloomily to Molly and began to push the buggy away to the exit and the High. He had had enough. He was getting his contacts and then he was going home and driving to Toys R Us on the Botley Road. Molly began to scream and reach out towards the dolls. James remembered all the ‘no’s in his childhood, and in particular, one here, in the Covered Market, almost thirty years ago: a wooden rocking horse. He was probably just five or six, just after the ‘piano lessons’ had begun. Rose and Joe had dragged him out screaming. He hardly ever usually made a fuss but he had dug his heels in and protested all the way back to the Land Rover in the Westgate car park and then cried all the way home. That horse had ‘looked’ at him like it had wanted to belong to him. Scarlett had two rocking horses in the nursery, one almost the size of a real pony, both with real hair and furry bodies, plus she had a real pony! He hadn’t been able to understand why he couldn’t have a small, painted wooden one. It was little; it would have fitted into his little attic bedroom in the cottage. It didn’t have real pony hair or leather reins and saddle like Scarlett’s. It had felt so unfair to the then little, unhappy James.

James turned the buggy around. It wouldn’t fit in the small shop so he called from the door. As he suspected, the parental advisory tag said they were not safe for under three years old. However, the assistant produced a basket of smaller dolls with embroidered eyes and sewn on check dresses. They were only about six centimetres tall. The assistant made them wave at Molly. She grinned and reached out. James brought four, two blond ones for Emma and one dark skinned, black haired and one pale skinned brown haired one for Molly, then walked the long way around to the exit he wanted so they didn’t have to pass the window display again. He already knew what he was buying for her third birthday.

*

Once on the High he turned left, heading for his new opticians, where he had a three-month supply of 24-hour soluble contacts to pick up. As he walked he almost passed his barbers but his reflection caught his eye. His hair was starting to curl and stand up unmanageably, giving him an almost mad professor look. He pushed open the door and bumped the heavy, full buggy up the step and went inside. The owner, who was a genial Italian man, approaching sixty, looked up from his coffee. A new man, a youngish West Indian, was doing something artistic to a younger Nigerian man’s hair at the back.

“Mr. Hathaway! A long time no see. I begin to think you a no come and have found someone else to do your hair. And what is this? A little bambina?” He magically produced a lollypop and squatted down in front of the buggy, handing Molly the sweet.

“Hello little missy. Mr. Hathaway, you are a surprise. I didn’t think you did girls – boys either, but I thought you would do boys if you weren’t such a good Catholic boy! And now, here you are, with a girl and a baby!”

James, who with anyone else, would have shut down, hidden all feelings and made a sarcastic, polite, non-committal kind of a reply, laughed. “I don’t. That is, do girls. But I’m not celibate, well not quite. She’s adopted. It’s a long story but...” He gestured at Molly and put his fingers to his lips.

“Ah.” The barber stood up. “What have you done to your hair? Are you turning into a bloody hippie?”

“I’ve done nothing. It just grew,” James managed to sound affronted at the audacity of his hair to grow without his permission. “I’ve had my hands full with Molly since she arrived. Please, please, Franco; sort it out. Please.”

At that moment Molly choked on her lollypop and had both men’s attention. She began to grizzle and cling to James and had to sit on his lap while Franco began to cut his hair and offered a barber shave. It proved impossible, however, as Molly acted as if the strange man was going to chop her Daddy’s head off. She was very protective. As well as very difficult and very loud.

Meanwhile, the young Nigerian student paid Franco’s new, young, business partner and left, smiling indulgently at the angry baby.

“Leroy,” Franco called, “Help!” he gestured wildly. “Leroy is my new business partner, Mr. Hathaway. Leroy Jones. He is already bringing in new customers. Now there is no hair we cannot do, eh? H’m? Is there?” He looked meaningfully at Leroy.

“Oh? Oh no,” Leroy replied, grinning, and grabbing Afro comb and a packet of something, he squatted in front of James and Molly. “The nice man wants to make your Daddy’s hair look nice, and I want to make your hair look pretty too, like a princess. Would you like that angel?”

“Wah?” spat out Molly.

“Pretty hair?” asked Leroy, reaching out to Molly’s thick, black, tangled hair – James did his best but the texture matted so easily and Molly struggled so much. She certainly had a lot more hair that the average European child of under one. Leroy looked curiously at James as he ran his fingers through Molly thick hair.

“She’s one quarter Australian Aboriginal,” he explained.

“Wow! You exotic little princess. No problem though.”

“Leroy will style Molly’s hair while I cut and style yours and give you a good shave. A deal Mr. Hathaway?”

“Free and gratis, a Christmas present,” added Leroy.

“Oh? Oh. Thank you.”

“Turn her around please,” said Leroy nasally, as Molly had taken a liking to him and was pulling at his nose.

Soon, James’ hair was washed, considerably shorter at the back and sides, and gelled to a perfection of neatness with a slightly longer top and he had the smoothest of smoothest shaved faces while Molly had neat rows of narrow corn rows, each ending with a pink bead and ribbon tied into a bow. She grinned and grinned and touched her hair, patting it and pulling at the little neat rows as she was shown her reflection.

“Beautiful bambina!”

“Gorgeous little angel cake!”

“You look so pretty. Pretty Molly. Say thank you to the nice gentlemen.”

“Now, coffee?” offered Franco, and while Leroy showed Molly some picture books that belonged to his two daughters (as did the beads and ribbons) James explained about her being his ex-boss’s – now his fiancé’s - granddaughter; about her being dumped on their doorstep, the murder of her mother and the discovery she had been used by her parents to smuggle heroin and their failed double crossing of the smuggling ring; about the arrest of her father and his deciding he wanted Molly to have a better life than he could provide; about how she had been neglected, not through malice but through inadequacy and addiction – their twisted plan had been to use the money for the smuggling to get Molly to the UK to her grandfather to raise.

“But they must have loved her very much in their own way, yes?” Franco said, before continuing to listen as James described about almost being coerced to give up work, his initial bonding with her, then resentment and now contentment; his attack in the flat and the struggle to find a new way with the man who had for a long time been his boss and a short time been his lover and then suddenly he was living with him full time with no work and no friends and a demanding, difficult baby.

“But you seem happy, yes? Children give you meaning. I remember each and every one of my children and grandchildren being born. Each time you think your heart is full but it grows big enough each time for more love. His son must break your man’s heart even as his little granddaughter mends it. He is very lucky to have you.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Hathaway. You are always so polite and kind. And do keep bringing Molly. She is a joy.”

James smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.” He stood up and took Molly from Leroy. She complained a bit before settling back in his arms. Leroy was the same colour as something that made Molly happy, someone that made her feel safe and sometimes afraid, someone that smelt of milk and warmth and sickness. Molly closed her eyes, confused, her baby mind a jumble of sounds, shouts, smells, and feeling hungry, cold, and afraid. She began to scream. James shushed her the best he could, pushing the buggy one-handed, holding her tightly in his other arm, murmuring comforting sounds and words, singing her the Obladi song; he smelt of coffee, sweet things – cake, hair mousse, soup – and his own smell. It became the safest thing in the world. Molly drifted into a lulled sleep in his arms.

*

James and Molly had not been back long when the doorbell rang. Water was on for pasta and James was putting away all the Christmas food shopping while Molly sat in her highchair eating cubes of cheddar and pieces of apple and carrot. Tired and stressed from trying to fit it all in the fridge he stumbled to his feet answer the door. He was stunned to find DC Alec Hooper standing there, big industrial tubs of paint in each hand. He grinned at James.

“Alright sarge? Or James, now, is it? That big brain of yours shrunk to the size of a pea yet with all the Thomas the Tank Engine and that?”

“Um. No. Actually, sometimes it feels like I have no brain at all, or it’s turned to cotton wool, or melted and poured out of my ears.” He smiled awkwardly. Things had never been easy or simple with Hooper, despite his kindness after the Black case or the Roschenkov one. “What are you doing here Hooper?”

“Alec. And that’ll be the lack of sleep. Boss said she’s not a sleeper. Mind wasn’t, but look at her now, eh? It’s the one with brains that don’t sleep, that’s what my wife used to say. Boss also said his Lyn’s coming down and the house in a state.”

“Did he ask...?” James stopped as Ngoti’s sister’s little red van pulled up. The one she used to transport her Sufi band around in. She and James had become quite close the previous summer, and both bands played multi faith gigs together, including the Cowley Road Carnival and the Asian Mela that summer. Ayesha Ngoti climbed out, followed by Ngoti’s other sister, Fatima the almost silent, in her long black dresses and very correct black hijabs, and Sophie, dressed in a pink puffa and hijab over purple skinny jeans and Uggs. Ayesha jeans were regular and baggy and her scarf tied behind the back of her neck, gypsy style, as always. She wore a chunky hand knit that must have come from a festival or ‘ethnic’ hippy shop. She waved over and kicked open the back of the van and the women grabbed dustsheets, paintbrushes, rollers and trays. James looked at Alec, puzzled, an angry, confused scowl furrowing his forehead.

“Boss tearing his hair out, stuck at work, with all this –” Hooper gestured to the house.

Just then angry screams intruded and James ran inside, leaving the door wide open. He returned a few moments later with Molly in his arms. By now the women stood with Hooper, politely waiting for permission to enter, and Ngoti himself was locking his car and approaching the front gate.

“Did Lewis ask you all to decorate?”

“No. It’s a favour. A surprise, like. He’s doing his nut in the office.”

“A Christmas pressie,” Sophie said.

“Or call it a housewarming gift,” added Ayesha.

“Or a baby-welcoming gift,” muttered Fatima shyly, reaching out to hold Molly’s fingers. Molly stared solemnly at the black tall, slim, elegant figure in front of her – swathes of black cloth covering everything but the beautiful unmade up ebony face.

“Or even a wedding present,” called Ngoti, jogging up the path and joining them, still in his work suit.

“Um?” said James, uncertain what to do or say.

“Just let us in then,” Ayesha said. “Point us at the right walls and we’ll get stuck in.”

“Got this job lot of paint off my brother,” explained Hooper. “I know it’s only magnolia, but it’s slightly better than this... er, sludge?” Hooper concluded, looking around the main reception room as they all followed James and Molly.

“I was, er... I was planning to go Christmas shopping after lunch. Lunch!” James rushed into the kitchen followed by Ayesha and Fatima. The pasta water had boiled away to nothing and the pasta dissolved into a beige gloop.

Ayesha soon had everyone organized with Ngoti, once changed into jeans and a tee shirt, and Hooper moving furniture to the middle and covering them in the sheets while Sophie, James, and she, washed the walls. Fatima, meanwhile, looked after Molly in the kitchen. After a while, in which she had repacked the fridge slightly more ordered than even very ordered James, cleaned and washed up and cooked, she called everyone through, instructing them quietly to wash their hands.

Soon everyone was tucking into chicken and bean joloff, pumpkin and beef stew with green beans. Molly had had bits of rice, pumpkin and beans before Fatima had added salt or spices and was full to the brim.

*

After lunch Ayesha practically pushed James and Molly out of the house to Christmas shop. It was snowing again. James wasn’t keen on driving at the best of times, but he absolutely hated driving in the snow. He’d planned to go around the ring road, but in a near blizzard he changed his mind. It probably doubled the journey time to Botley but he didn’t care. 

By the time he got home, everyone had gone. Both the reception rooms, the utility room, guest room and bathroom were a clean, bright magnolia and all the bookcases and shelving units were attached to the walls.

The excitement of Toys R Us and the journey had exhausted Molly and lulled her to sleep so James took advantage and unpacked the boxes of all the books, CDs, etc. and then wrapped up the presents. Molly awoke and screamed. James realised it was gone eight o’clock and there was no sign of Robbie.

He fed, bathed and got Molly ready for bed. They watched Baby Einstein with James rocking her after half an hour of reading and she was still frigidity and restless. They watched Milkshake anytime on his laptop but Molly was too young and grew bored. Desperate and not happy about driving about in the snow her strapped her into her buggy and pushed her back and forth, back and forth, rocking her, in front of the   
Baby Einstein Range – Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Shakespeare, back to Mozart and so on... and so on and on and on....

*

Robbie came home at just after midnight to find Molly asleep in her buggy, the TV on playing the menu of a DVD and James flat out on the floor. He was in a bad mood, and more than a little drunk, and tripped over James and yelled, waking Molly, who started screaming. So did James, at Robbie.

Both men were tired, and said some unpleasant things that they instantly regretted, over the top of the yelling, shrieking, Molly, bucking so hard against the buggy straps the buggy was tipping and rocking. Fortunately, Molly was still tired, she’d been asleep for less than ten minutes, and so she managed to exhaust herself back to sleep in her temper.

“Thank God,” said James, flopping on the sofa. They were in the back room again. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“No, I’m sorry pet. I know how hard it is, but – wow! Look at the place! It’s bloody amazing. Fabulous!” He clapped his hands together in a drunken parody of glee.

James stared for a few moments, wondering where stoic Robbie had gone, then he explained, “Hooper, Ngoti and all his women arrived. Ayesha took control, Fatima cooked, and Sophie talked non-stop. Are you hungry? There’s some food left. It’s good.”

“Famished love. You heat it up, then. I’ll just take this little sleeping princess to bed and get out of this bleeding suit. Feels glued to me.”

“Hooper fixed the shower. And the heating. And I thought he hated me.”

“He’s trying to overcome his innate homophobia, I reckon. He’s a good cop, a good man. Ngoti’s acceptance of us never ceases to surprise me, but maybe I’m just Islamaphobic or something. Just bloody ignorant, maybe? What do I know?”

James just shrugged and headed for the kitchen. Soon Robbie joined him wearing his pyjamas, a battered thick cardigan and even more battered carpet slippers. He ate the spicy African food like a starving man, in between mouthfuls telling James of the two more bodies and the signed confession of a suicide note. A postgraduate student had been having an affair with the domestic bursar and her older girlfriend had discovered them in bed together sometime last week. She had been bipolar and it had flipped her into a mania and she had stopped taking her medication and disappeared, only to re-emerge to murder the bursar, and then her girlfriend, before taking her own life.

“Media’s loving it,” Robbie went on. “Gay love triangle. Lesbians. Young, attractive ones at that. Big tabloid titillation. Then you got the mad angle, should they be in the community, blah blah blah. All ignorance and prejudice. God knows what the headlines will be in the morning. Even worse, God know how’ll they’ll quote me. Worse press conference of me life. Innocent had to stop me more than once. Going out with a bang, I think. Or just going out Out!”

“Seriously...?!”

Robbie shrugged. “Been awake so many bloody hours, all this is a tragedy, don’t need some misogynist, homophobic, git from the Telegraph baiting me, do I?”

“Shit.” James sighed and shrugged. “The tabloids, flash in the pan, tomorrow’s chip paper...”

“’Cept the chippies won’t open tomorrow, will they?” Robbie sighed heavily.

“That’s not why you’re down, is it? And you seem really down,” James said, picking at the rice and chicken. “You’ve got a result, of sort, the paperwork, and the press done, and you have your leave back.”

“Have you seen outside love? Nearly a foot of snow, and well over a foot in Manchester. M6 is closed again, so’s Manchester’s airport and rail station,” Robbie said gloomily.

James stopped picking at the pot and stretched out over the kitchen table covering Robbie’s hand with his own, long fingers squeezing gently. “Don’t be so pessimistic. They’re forecasting rain by Christmas morning. She’ll make it. Have faith.”

“And it’s Christmas Eve!” Robbie said, glancing at the clock.

“You didn’t get the tree, then?”

Robbie shook his head.

“Come to bed darling,” James said, suddenly shy, not used to using endearments, blushing as the word just fell out of his mouth.

“Oh aye?” Robbie raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“No!” James snapped, panicking, withdrawing his hand.

“It’s okay love. Alright, fine, okay. You know that pet,” Robbie rambled, as if placating a small child, or even a wild animal.

“I just meant, we’re both shattered, and for all we know Molly may wake up at any moment.”

“That girl! Is she ever going to sleep through the night?”

“I hope so!” James replied with some considerable feeling.


	2. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trees, tears and daughters

They awoke late, Molly having slept all night through, to the sound of hissing rain on the roof, the pattering against the window pain and the drip drip dripping of a leak somewhere in the bedroom ceiling. They both leapt out of bed, Robbie attending to the leak as James checked Molly was still breathing, not quite believing she could have slept through ten straight hours. She was a little warm and a bit snuffily, and awake, but quiet. She had been lying watching the rain on the windows. She grinned at him.

“Dah dah!”

James washed and changed her; made Robbie tea and then both breakfast while Robbie grumpily fetched buckets, ladders, and the toolbox and disappeared into the loft.

“It’ll hold,” he said later, showered, shaved and dressed and tucking into sausage sandwiches. “We’ll get someone proper in after Christmas. Will you look at that! Must have rained for hours, washed half the snow away,” he said cheerfully.

James, who had been on his laptop and had put on the radio said glumly, “More snow, not rain, in the North, and further south too. And if it should freeze now, they’ll be black ice.”

“Better get the tree now then, and hope for the best. What’s the forecast for tonight?”

“This rain is supposed to spread.”

“Good. Well, I’m going to hope for the best and prepare for our Lyn, okay?”

James smiled, “Okay.”

“Where’s your specs?”

“I got more contacts.”

“Shame, you looked cute. But I like the hair. And Molly’s is amazing. How much did that cost?”

“Nothing. My barber’s new business partner did to distract her so he could cut and style mine. It makes it so much easier to look after. Her hair knots so easily.”

“Well, you both look great, don’t you princess?” Robbie said to Molly, who was intently pushing pieces of bread about her highchair tray. She ignored him, fascinated as she was by the bread balls and crumb. “Well then. I’ll wash up and then we’ll go buy us a tree.”

*

Molly didn’t like being taken from the highchair and her bread tidied away. She screamed all through the process of getting her out, coat on, strapped in car seat, buggy folded and in boot along with bag packed with nappies, wipes, drinks, rice cakes, pieces of fruit, and toys.

“I’d forgotten what a palaver it is,” Robbie said cheerfully above her angry screams.

As the headed out of the city the snow lay as thickly as ever, and when they got to the bottom of Stockenchurch Hill, the start of the Chilterns, James stopped the car. Snow lay on the road heavily.

“This is the A40! A main route!” he spat out angrily.

“I’ll drive pet, I’ve had more experience at driving on snow than you.”

“Why?”

Robbie laughed, “Last bad snow you were but a wee kid, but I wasn’t.”

“I don’t think there has ever been snow as bad as this in my life!” But he got out and walked around the car, allowing Robbie to slide over into the driver’s seat.

“’63, maybe?” offered Robbie when James had got in and belted up and turned to reassure Molly he had gone nowhere – she had started to whine and grizzle the minute he’s got out of the car.

“You were never driving in ’63!” James retorted. “I might be living with a grandfather, but you are never that old!”

“No,” agreed Robbie mildly, “I was a kid. I remember our Dad having to dig a path from the front door to the road though. But ’82 was bad, but that was after Christmas, January, and ’94, ’95? Ice if not snow, never went above minus 10 for weeks. Been thinking about it a lot. Come on, let’s get us a decent tree.”

“Tee!” yelled Molly as they drove very slowly and carefully up into the Chilterns, beech woods surrounding them on both sides. “Tee, tee, tee, tee, tee,” she yelled, pointing out of the window.

“Lots and lots of trees, yes Molly. Clever girl,” James said, looking back at her and smiling, paying attention to her burbling. “But Dad is taking us to a place for special Christmas trees.”

“Tee!” screamed Molly at the top of her lungs.

“Beats me how you know what she’s saying half the time.”

“You have to listen,” James said pointedly. “She’s desperate to speak, I think. She gets angry if she can’t communicate.”

“You read too much. She’s a baby. She’s not even one.”

“She’s clever!” James insisted. “I don’t care what Dr. Sayer said! She’s clever!”

Robbie put his hand on James’ thigh for a moment, but only a moment, he need both hands on the wheel on the steep snow covered hill, before saying, “You’re happy, aren’t you pet? You and Molls? You’re happy with the stay at home dad, househusband, thing, aren’t you? It wasn’t wrong of me to... to push you, was it?”

James turned to Robbie, putting his had on his thigh and squeezing gently. “Yes, I’m happy Robbie. I am. We are. Aren’t we Molly?”

“Tee!” Molly yelled. “Tee, tee, kwuk! Kwuk!” she shouted, pointing up as the Red Kites wheeled in the sky as they turned off the A40 towards Christmas Common, but also towards the Kites’ reserve.

“They are not ducks Molly, they are kites,” James said. “Red Kites.”

“They eat ducks for lunch, and small baby girls for dinner,” teased Robbie.

“Robbie!” James reproved.

“Kwuk!” yelled Molly forcefully. She knew what she had seen: a thing with feathers and wings flying in the sky. They liked bread. So did she. She liked to eat their bread when Daddy didn’t look.

*

There were an incredible number of cars in the car park at the farm store selling the pine trees from the plantation. There were also an incredible number of red kites wheeling in the sky, calling to each other in their unearthly pee-wit cry.

They took a walk first, Molly in James’ arms, chatting constantly, a babble of, ‘tee’, ‘kwuk’ and ‘Jo’ to a dog as her little toy dog was called Joey.

“Hooper!” Robbie exclaimed. 

“Sir!” Hooper was equally confused.

“James told me I owe you a thanks. It was amazing! I can’t... I just can’t figure out why?”

“You were pulling your hair out Sir, and there was me too, missing my girl. I spoke to Sophie, but it was her, Mo and his sisters mostly, you know? I just kicked the ball rolling. Any news on your daughter?”

“Snow might clear. Hopefully. If it does at least the house is fine, thanks to you. You say you’re missing your daughter. I thought Molly always came down for Christmas?” Robbie turned to James, “Alec has a Molly too. She’s a pathologist, at St. Bart’s, in London.”

“Oh,” James said non-commitally before wandering away as Molly began to scream with boredom and jealousy.

“Well, she told me missus she wasn’t coming. She’s got this thing for this bloke. Besotted she is. Won’t listen to reason. It’s not like it’s returned. He’s a right weird one too, odd. Wife thinks he sounds a bit autistic, a bit Aspergers, something like that? Anyway, turns out he’s gay too, shacked up now with a soldier – well, army doctor and this doctor’s throwing a Christmas party. ’Course, Molly’s insisting on going and that him and this doctor are just friends and she stands a chance. Told you, besotted she is. Wife’s been so depressed, so she’s done next to nothing over Christmas or anything for weeks. Worried she is, you know Molly and her little obsessions? So, I got Molly to agree to come down tomorrow lunchtime, and now we’re rushing about trying to get everything ready at the last minute.”

“She’ll get over it,” Robbie said practically. “She had a thing for her maths teacher, didn’t she?”

“Got out of hand that one, we had to move her to another school. Then there was that Indian doctor at med school.” Hooper shrugged helplessly. “She’s gonna get hurt, this guy doesn’t do tact. In fact, from she tells us, sounds like he takes great pleasure in being spiteful.”

“She’s a big lass, Alec. You can’t fight their battles or make their decisions once they’ve grown. God knows I’ve had to face that recently.”

“Um. Yeah. Sorry Sir.”

They stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, both staring at the ground, before Robbie said, “She’ll be fine man. Don’t you worry. Merry Christmas Alec.”

“Merry Christmas Sir. You too James,” Hooper called, walking over. “And you too, little Molly. Love your hair sweetheart,” he kissed Molly on the top of the head before heading off towards the car park, carrying his tree. Molly glared and rubbed at her head.

*

They stopped in a country pub in Buckinghamshire for lunch, sitting by an open fire and eating fine, traditional pub grub – a pie and chips for Robbie, a Ploughman’s for James with four cheeses, many pickles and warm, freshly baked crusty bread (or possibly freshly microwaved bread, James wasn’t sure). Molly ate cheese, cucumber, tomato and pieces of bread from Daddy and chips from Dad’s plate, which made Daddy cross.

Then they went to a posh garden centre where many children were queuing, quietly and in awe, to meet Santa. He had an outside grotto, and with the snow, and a genuine reindeer tethered outside and a couple of out of work young actors as his elf helpers it began to really feel like Christmas. Molly was too young so they went inside to look at Christmas decorations.

Robbie welled up. He was so embarrassed, but as he stood there, leaning on the trolley, with Molly sat inside while James studied fairy lights, tinsel and beautiful tree ornaments, he couldn’t help remember it all, that first Christmas after.

The tree had been up, Val always put up the tree early, in time for Mark’s birthday – a birthday this year he had spent in a remand prison. The tree stayed up, ignored, the Christmas and beyond, the lights never switched on, the presents under it unwrapped, all over Christmas and beyond, months beyond. It had been March, no April, past Easter, when Lyn, off her face herself on weed, had persuaded her brandy sozzled Dad they should do something about it. So they did, just chucking it out – lights, tinsel, decorations, presents and ancient angel on the top, the lot! Lyn cried afterwards about the fairy doll, a doll she had donated to be turned into the Christmas angel at four, when she had still been Louise. Val had always kept and reused every year the decorations the kids had made at primary school. Robbie still regretted their passing. Mark never forgave him.

The garden centre had a teashop and James gently guided him to it and sat him down, wordlessly handing him his hanky before taking Molly to buy tea.

“Christmas is always full of bad memories as well as good. Everything is always more vivid at this time,” James said after he had sat down and poured Robbie a generously sugared tea, not adding, as he could have done, his father had pimped him to paedophiles for the first time at Christmas.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so guilty. She’s been gone nine years and I’ve got you now. I love you. I do. And I’ve got Molly. But I miss her so much it still hurts!”

“Of course you do. She was you first love, your true love. I could never replace her. Nor do I ever want to. What you had with Val sounds so special. Oh don’t Robbie! Don’t! I love you!” James wrapped his arms around Robbie, holding him tightly, praying Molly would behave herself sitting on the floor.

Molly had been watching the water leak from her Dad’s eyes curiously, but now Daddy was cuddling Dad instead of her and that was not on. She began to scream.

Hurriedly James pulled away but an older lady had got to Molly first.

“Hush lamb, hush my duck. S’sh. Is he alright?” she asked as she rocked Molly on her hip.

“Missing his wife. She died at Christmas time.”

“Take your time, there’s a little toy and book corner over there. I’ll be with your daughter.”

A while later, some sweet tea and an iced cinnamon bun later, Robbie was composed and let go of James’ hand. James fetched Molly.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. She’s a joy. Bright as a button. We’ve been looking at books, ain’t we me duck?”

“Buk. Dah dah!” grinned Molly, stretching out her arms. James took her and she snuggled into him.

“It’s lovely,” the old lady said. She welled up herself, dabbing her eyes with a lace hanky. “I’m sorry, but it’s so lovely to see you. Adopted baby. Lovely ring.”

“I’m sorry,” said James, confused, glancing at his left hand. He forgot the diamond ring half the time, it was just part of him, a happy, secure, belonging to Robbie Lewis part of him.

“No! Don’t say sorry. Never say sorry. My brother... killed himself, many years ago now. Discharged from the army. Sent to prison. Twice! For what? Being in love! Showing that love! He’d found a job, a good one, despite the criminal record, then he found a lovely man, true love, I think it was, but this... bastard! This blackmailer tried to... Well, he couldn’t face prison again, and didn’t want his boyfriend to be involved so... so... He just couldn’t take it any more. If only he had waited. 1966 it was. If only he’d held out one more year...”

“He went to prison for being gay?” James clarified, appalled. Self-loathing and feeling suicidal he could identify with, but losing you job? Being arrested and imprisoned? Blackmailed?

“I just get so happy when I see things like that, you know? I know your man is sad, but you can cuddle him, hold hands, in public. Get married. Adopt children. It’s just all so lovely.”

“God! Yes it is. Absolutely lovely. Thank God! I’ve never thought what it must have been like... before. Thank you again. I hope you have a very happy Christmas.”

“You too young man, you too.”

What must it have been like, James wondered repeatedly, as they bought things for the tree and the house: as they drove out of the Chilterns and the snow and back into the flat wet plains of Oxfordshire; as they rushed into Wheatley Asda fifteen minutes before everywhere shut for the season; as they drove home, car packed with tree lights, decorations, crackers, sweets, chocolates, wines, spirits and beer. What must it have been like for a teenage bisexual Robbie Lewis when attitudes had been as hard and as nasty as they were back then?

*

When they finally got home it was dark and all the snow, apart from dirty white clumps here and there from snowdrifts and the remains of snowmen, and it was raining again, raining hard. More importantly, Lyn’s car was parked in the drive.

As soon as Robbie had happily climbed out of the car Lyn jumped out of her own and flew at him.

“Oh thank God! Thank God Dad! I’ve been worried sick! Was this the right house? Had something happened to you? To Molly.”

“We’re fine pet,” Robbie said, holding her and holding her, breathing in her hair and smiling and smiling and smiling.

“Out of signal. Hills. And snow. Plus your Dad left his phone at home quite deliberately.”

“I’m on bloody leave and I’m staying on leave,” Robbie murmured into his daughter’s hair.

“Alright James – sorry, my father’s former sergeant, the ex-priest, half his age.” Lyn giggled at their expressions as Robbie pulled away from her and James gave her an offended look. “You’ve not read the Telegraph then?”

“When would I ever read the bloody Torygraph? I’ll told you, last night...” Robbie turned to James. He turned back to his daughter. “Do you? I’m disappointed in you pet. Was he actually named?”

“Oh nah,” Lyn shook her head. “And I don’t read that vile rag, but it’s scary how many of my friends do. The texts and messages on Facebook I got this morning. I had a peek on the way down at some services when I stopped for tea and to feed Emma. It’s okay,” she turned to James. “No names, no faces, just a little snubbed aside on the case, the ‘killer psycho lesbian love triangle’, apparently, was solved by ‘recently out gay Inspector Lewis, who after years of being respectable widower and former happily married family man surprised the entire station by shacking up with his former sergeant, a young man half his age who was once a Catholic priest, a source close to the Inspector told us’,” Lyn quoted.

“Was that it?” demanded James. Lyn nodded.

“I did warn you pet, told you I got pissed off with their homophobia and sexism and said too much.”

“So, I’m frozen, where have you been?” Lyn asked before throwing herself on to her Dad again for another hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you Dad.”

James shook off his shock, like he had said yesterday, tomorrow’s chip wrappers, but it was an unfair distortion. And it wasn’t really, nothing got wrapped up in cyberspace, it just lingered on. Always there, if someone went looking... Still, why would they? He shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind and smiled at Lyn. “We’ve been to fetch the tree,” he replied to Lyn, indicating the car.

“A... tree? Are we decorating a tree? We’ve not done that together... since... since...” Lyn stumbled, growing a little tearful.

“I know pet.”

James unpacked the car, then Lyn’s and finally carried a sleeping Molly then a sleeping Emma to the playpen, leaving Lyn and Robbie to their hugging and their tearful reminiscing. He made tea and then patiently waited, checking the newspaper’s website on his phone and snorting in disbelief. No one who didn’t know already could possible know it was he to whom they referred. He wondered idly who possibly it could have been at the nick had talked, but he doubted anyone said anything deliberately. He could have got the information from the bartender at the Trout or the White Horse or even the Turf, or any number of barristas from the many places they drank coffee.

*

Although the back room had become the cosy place to hang out for James and Molly, the three of them decided to decorate and use the main, larger, front room for Christmas. It took a while, with much laughter and happiness, Lyn and Robbie telling James about family Christmases and James awkwardly at first, and then more comfortably, sharing happy Christmas memories from his childhood.

“It’s okay to love them,” Lyn had said suddenly, giving him a quick hug. “It’s okay to love them and miss them, whatever mistakes they made, whatever they did to you. They’re still your Mum and Dad, aren’t they?”

Robbie had to have a private moment at that, Lyn was so like Val, so sensitive and understanding, and in the twilight, she looked so like Val when he’d first met her he couldn’t breathe.

Angry cries came then, as Molly awoke, followed by the distressed cries of Emma as Molly made it plain that this was her playpen, what was this baby doing here? James and Lyn hurried to the back room.

After they left Robbie quickly cleared away the packaging and switched off the light. When he heard them in the doorway he switched on the fairy lights.

“Ta-da!” he yelled, giving a little theatrical gesture to the tree. “Isn’t it absolutely fabulous!”

“Oh God yes!” said James.

“My God Dad, you sound so gay!”

“Well, I am now pet. Did living with James not give it away?”

“Apparently you can’t be gay until you use that word, in which case I could never possibly be gay. No chance at all, as hell would have to freeze over before I used such a word,” said James with feeling.

“You must be the exception that proves the rule,” Lyn teased.

All the grown-ups pointless chatter went over Molly’s head as she gazed in wonder at the little lights and tiny toys hanging from the: “Tee!” she yelled. “Tee tee tee!!!”

Meanwhile, little Emma saw sparkles and moving shiny objects and glittery lines. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Molly decided she liked the laughing baby now she wasn’t in her territory. “Tee,” she explained kindly, her voice much more gentle for the first time.

“Yes Molly,” agreed James. “Tree. A special tree to celebrate Jesus’ birthday. A Christmas tree and tomorrow it’ll be Christmas and we’re all going to have a lovely time, aren’t we?”

“A fabulous time,” Robbie corrected solemnly. And Lyn laughed and laughed and hugged her Dad because she remembered then he had always called the tree fabulous when she, Mum, and Ken – as Mark had been then - had finished it. He held her back tightly, both daughter and granddaughter. He was going to have a happy family Christmas. He hoped Val did live on somewhere and she could see it all, both her granddaughter and Lyn, and was very happy for them all.

“Tee!” shouted Molly again and everyone laughed joyfully as Lyn and Robbie heard what James heard – a word!


	3. Christmas Eve night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food, revelations and Midnight Mass

James got high tea rather than a proper meal, Lyn said she was too shattered to eat and Robbie made a joke about making room for all the Christmas food the next day. Molly would simply not leave James’ side, having after the initial anger and then curiously at finding another, smaller, baby in the house, had grown shy and more than a little jealous. After all, Dad kept hugging the new baby and the strange lady, and Molly wasn’t at all that keen on Dad cuddling Daddy, so she clung to her Daddy possessively, but also for reassurance, as she felt unsettled and a bit scared. Hence the easy supper, a one handed preparation affair of sandwiches, crisps, salad and pickles followed by mince pies, all washed down with beer for himself and Robbie, and Lyn, who was still breast feeding little Emma, had tea.

They sat in the larger sitting room they had as yet barely used, James having cleaned out the grate and lit the real fire, watching the flames, debating on whether to roast chestnuts and listening to the BBC Radio 3 Nine Lessons and Carols broadcast from Kings, Cambridge, where James, apropos nothing, murmured he’d read one of the lessons ten years before.

Robbie was used to these sudden little bursts of information and he gently trod on Lyn’s toe, warning her not to ask. Lyn glared at him, giving him a look so like Val it hurt for a moment. Lyn ignored her Dad,

“What did you read?”

“The fourth lesson,” James relied, giving no more information.

“And for us ignorant pagans?” Robbie prompted.

“Isaiah 11,” James intoned, “Jesus’s birth is foretold.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.”

“But it’s Anglican. You’re a Catholic?” Lyn asked.

“Sort of. Once. A long time ago. Had to chose, didn’t I?” He gave Robbie a nervous little smile, and then looked down at a strangely quiet but still awake Molly on his lap. She was chewing at her small dog with its green plastic teething ring attached where its tail should be. He stroked her cheek. She batted his hand away with a scowl,

“Dah dah na!!!”

“So you’re not going to Midnight Mass then?”

“How can I? I’m sure by now there’s not a priest in Oxford who hasn’t heard the gossip. Not one of them would give me the Host.” James sounded bitter, thought Lyn, looking at her Dad, who looked anguished for his lover.

“If you want to, though, go to any C of E, I mean, I’ll look after Molly. Dad’ll drive you.”

“Can’t pet, I’ve had slightly more than one too many.” He slurred his words a little for effect. “But you could drive him, eh? Molly be alright with her Dad, won’t you princess, while your big sister takes Daddy to Andi’s church?”

“Anda bram ram!” Molly said patting her hair. “Chur chur! Sing!” Sing was shouted very loudly.

Robbie laughed. “When did she start saying sing?” he asked a startled James.

“Um. Just now. She does like the singing at the ABC club.”

“So you did go!” Lyn exclaimed, remembering the conversation they had after Nadia’s funeral. Poor murdered Nadia, paying for her husband’s Mark’s stupid gamble with the drug gangs and stealing half of that which they had been coerced to smuggle. Lyn almost mentioned when they had had the conversation but then thought no, her Dad and James were Molly’s parents now, and she mustn’t know her origins until she was a lot older.

“Yup. I did.”

“He goes every week now, don’t you love? It’s a bit of a break for him, the other Dad that goes is a much as a geek as him and they talk comics and Tolkein and stuff that goes -” Robbie made a gesture with his hand over his head to indicate all the geek stuff was way past his frame of reference. “Sometimes he plays his guitar in the songs and he even serves. Reverend Andi is very liberal, you know.”

“Come on then, get ready. I’ll drive you. I’ll even come. Emma sleeps through these days, but if she wakes Dad, it’ll probably mean she’s a dirty nappy, you can cope with that, right. Just put her straight back down in the travel cot and switch on the little musical mobile I clipped on and she’ll get straight back off.”

“Oh the joy of an ordinary kiddie!”

“Robbie!”

“Sorry, love, but life would be easier if madam slept, right?”

“Dah bah!!!” Molly shouted angrily.

James stood up and put Molly in her Dad’s arms. “If she plays up she likes all the Baby Einstien stuff. And you can always rock her in her buggy if the worst comes to the worst.”

“Aye. Or drug her.”

“Have you considered a hammer?” Lyn asked.

“Lyn!”

“She’s teasing James, teasing.”

“I knew that. I’m going to get ready. If you mean it Lyn?”

“Sure I mean it, it’ll give me quality time with my step-Daddy, won’t it?”

James scowled so deeply, Robbie and Lyn laughed, they couldn’t help themselves.

 

*

 

As soon as they arrived at St. Peter’s, James started to relax. Both congregations, St. Peter’s and its daughter church, St. Friedswide’s, were filling up the pews, along with many, many, once a year church attendees, most three sheets to the wind. Rev. Andi was at the door, welcoming people. She looked very different to how James knew here. James had not attended Mass – or Eucharist as the Anglicans called it – with Molly, only coming to the little parent, baby and toddler group at the little modern build daughter church tucked away on a new housing estate. Andi had wild short spiked hair, red when he had first met her, but recently she had appeared to get bored with it and it had turned purple. She was fond of bright colours too, brightly patterned or striped trousers with coloured clerical collars that were designed, obviously, for women, and chunky ethnic cardigans and jumpers, the type James had seen on sale at music festivals and in hippy shops. She had a pierced nose and eyebrow, and frequently wore huge dangling earrings, often some form of cross or Celtic Trinity knot. Today she was far more formal, all piercings empty, dressed in white, cream and gold vestments and stole, looking like the proper priest he knew she was, although it had taken him far longer to get used to a woman priest than he was comfortable to admit to himself. She matched the surroundings and the occasion. St. Peter’s was a Victorian church built early on to serve academics as they married and moved north from the city centre. It was lit by candles, a huge Christmas tree in the corner, the crib in front, the alter and rail and choir decked with beautiful flowers. The organ was playing Elgar’s Carrillon and the whole church smelt of incense, smelling of a real church, of holiness, of familiarity and comfort and God.

God, he must be drunker than James supposed. He found two seats near to the front, at the side by the choir and looked around, alarmed. He had thought Lyn was with him. Just as he caught sight of her the choir stood to sing an anthem, In Dulci Jubilo.

“Sorry,” Lyn whispered, sitting down next to him. “Did you think I deserted you?”

James tried to look like it had never crossed his might as he shook his head.

“Thought so. Lots of old friends of Mum, all saying how lovely it was to see me, and two sweet old things telling me how good you are for Dad. Well, I know that.” Lyn grinned. “Bit weird, being back here. I was confirmed here, you know? Mark chose not to, but I shared Mum’s faith for a bit.”

“Now?”

“Tell you after the service.” She grinned again; she had her father’s teasing smile, exactly the same. James couldn’t help smirk back, and tried to frame the right question, but the one of the servers announced for them all to stand for the first hymn, the First Nowell, and the procession and the service began.

James had done all his previous thinking things through and worry and guilt about living in sin and not being clean and sinless for the Host, and taking communion from a Protestant – although, technically the Anglicans were not straight forward Protestants, but Popeless Catholics, and his big anxiety over transubstantiation verses whatever the Anglicans believed, which he couldn’t quite get, as it wasn’t straight forward symbolism of community, fellowship, and remembrance like Calvin or Luther would have proposed. Still, he had already been down that route and took communion from Andi once a week at the little Tuesday club he took Molly too. More than that, he had replaced the CD of worship music they had always used with his own guitar. He did have a little panic as the service went on, as with the full liturgy, the incense, the sung responses, he could have been in a Catholic service, except for the disconcerting fact that the voices were all of a higher timbre. He was drunk, he must be, he knew the Reverend Andrea Lindsay well, he did accept her ordination, they had fantastic and supportive theological discussions – well, sometimes real intellectual ding dongs and sometimes almost spiritual counselling and guidance, which he did accept, so why now have a wobble and reject his knew found home for his ingrained belief? It did him no favours...

Lyn squeezed his hand as the choir began a second anthem and it was their turn to approach the alter rail.

“You going?”

“I’d thought so.”

“Come on then.” 

“Are you receiving the Host?” James asked, surprised.

“Yeah, why not? I sort of feel Mum would want me to.”

“Not sure about your father...”

“Dad has issues, but he respects your faith, doesn’t he?”

“He hates my faith!” James said uncertainly.

But other people in their row began standing and shuffling along to the aisle so without anymore self doubts or questions Lyn and James joined them, ready to receive the Bread and Wine, the Body and Blood of their Lord, born that Happy Morning, as they sang afterwards in joyful voices, as O Come All Ye Faithful was the last hymn.

James was silent in the car on the way home. Although it had rained and much of the snow had been washed away, the wet ground was frozen solid at one o’clock Christmas morning and Lyn was grateful for the silence, as she needed to concentrate on the road, a car in front weaving from one side of the road to another at 20 miles an hour, obviously a drunk, and the odd group of very merry revellers staggering into the road, wishing everyone a very merry Christmas.

The house was in darkness apart from the porch and landing light and one flickering nightlight in Robbie, James and Molly’s room. At the top of the stairs, on impulse, Lyn threw her arms around James and leaned up and kissed his cheek. He looked startled, but quite pleased, although he blushed and looked a little uncomfortable. Damn! She forgot his childhood, just because he was with her Dad now – and she really didn’t want to think too deeply there! – there was no reason to suppose he was used to or comfortable with loving touch.

“I’m so glad you came into my Dad’s life. You gave him back to me. And he’d – we’d – never have coped with all the stuff with Mark and Molly if you’d not been there for us. Happy Christmas Daddy!”

James looked startled. “Um, thanks, but I’m not sure if you should...”

“For Molly, I think I should. Night night.”

“Night Lyn,” James said quietly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he opened his bedroom door.

The nightlight was on by Molly’s cot, but she was sitting up in the middle of their bed, chewing on a book and holding her rag doll by its leg. Robbie lay curled up on his side, loosely around her, sound asleep. This was new, Molly allowing them to sleep when she was awake. Perhaps she had just woken, or Robbie just crashed?

“Dah dah!” she said happily. “Bak! Dah dah buk!”

“You want me to read to you Molly? Can Daddy get ready for bed first?”

“Buk buk buk!!!” Molly yelled.

“Uh! Wha’?” Robbie mumbled, half asleep.

“It’s okay, I’m here. Go back to sleep Sir.”

“You must be tired,” Robbie answered, half sitting up and yawning. “I know you’re not implying anything else with the little princess in the middle here.”

“Dah no! Dah dah buk! Nah!”

“All yours,” Robbie said, turning over, his back to Molly, and falling promptly back asleep.

“Daddy is tired Molly. Daddy will tell you a story, okay, while he gets ready for bed?”

“Buk?” Molly said uncertainly.

“The book is in Daddy’s head. He learnt it a long time ago. You have to close your eyes and see the pictures in your mind. You have to imagine them.”

“Buk nah!”

James pulled of his sweater and stepped out of his jeans and carried on undressing and putting on his pyjamas as he spoke.

“A long, long time ago, in a far of place called Nazareth there lived a big girl, nearly a grown up, and she was called Mary. Once day she was on her own when a man suddenly appeared. Mary was afraid and asked God to keep her safe. The man said he was an angel. Do you know what an angel is Molly?”

Molly spread her arms out and flapped them. “Fair!” she said.

“Some pictures of angels make them look like fairies, but angels come from God, and are bigger. This angel was called Gabriel, and he told Mary she was going to have a baby. Mary got very scared because she didn’t have a husband and in those days it was against the law to have a baby without a husband.”

“Baba Isus!”

“Yes, Molly, you are clever? You’ve been listening to all Andi’s story telling and singing, haven’t you?”

After James had got ready for bed, Molly wouldn’t let him have a break, so with Molly on one hip, he was forced to continue in the bathroom, even around the toothbrush, “So Joseph and Mary had to go to Bethlehem on a donkey, even though it was nearly time for Jesus to be born.”

“Dada sing!” Molly demanded very clearly, so he did so. Lyn listened, snuggled up in the guest room with a book, as James walked past singing in a very beautiful voice, Little Donkey. It made her want to weep, she knew he could play guitar; she never knew he had such a lovely voice. Her Dad had found himself a fallen angel...!

**Author's Note:**

> This has been waiting to be posted for the last two Christmases, so this is third time lukcy, and still not finished, but I'm hoping the chapters I have work


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